


I'm Flippin' Burgers, You At Kinko's Straight Flippin' Copies

by bordello_blues



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Castiel, Awkward Dean, Cheeseburgers, Crack, M/M, cracktastic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bordello_blues/pseuds/bordello_blues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel misunderstands the concept of anniversaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Flippin' Burgers, You At Kinko's Straight Flippin' Copies

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. This was started for September 18th of last year, but then I went off and shipped 00Q hard for a while. On the bright side I have finished it for this year's anniversary of Dean being raised from perdition. So yeah, this is cracktastic crack. Nothing belongs to me. The title is from the Lonely Island song "I'm On A Boat."
> 
> Mucho thanks to resurrection_en_menthe for the beta-ing, as usual.

The first thing Dean smells as he’s walking into the motel, is something burning. Which, really, isn’t all that worrisome – he’s smelled many strange, and some downright disturbing, things throughout his years as a hunter. Point being: when you spend your life in one cheap hotel after the other, you get accustomed to ignoring some aspects of your surroundings: like the suspicious stains on the carpet, or the burn marks in the comforters, even the used condom you discover wedged between the mattress and the headboard – as if it's being saved for later use. So Dean pays no mind to the smell, fumbling instead for his key around a duffel bag full of weapons he’s been putting off cleaning.

He doesn’t even start to worry when the smell keeps getting stronger. There are about four other doors down the hall that it could be coming from – this is one of those places that rents rooms by the month – and each has its own kitchen (which consists of a stove that is more of a hot plate and a mini fridge that can barely fit a six pack, so the term ‘kitchen’ is actually kind of subjective). Anyway, Dean’s pretty sure the last place they stayed at was housing a meth lab, so this is definitely an upgrade – even if there’s a particularly vocal, and apparently hugely successful, hooker living in the room next door. Which begs the question why she’s staying at a shitty hotel in a shitty town in a shitty state – but Dean’s been a little bit hopeless about everything recently, so maybe he’s just projecting – then again, given the grime on the walls, and the watermarks on the ceiling, maybe not.

It’s only when he opens the door and a cloud of smoke comes roiling out that he realizes something is wrong. Even so, his first thought is ‘Oh. Crap. Demon,’ though the smoke is neither black nor sentient enough, and it smells less like sulfur and more like someone is failing miserably at cooking. That someone, Dean realizes, as he haphazardly drops the duffel on a bed and rushes to open the window, is none other than Castiel. Who, in spite of the situation, is looking conspicuously smug and extremely proud of himself. In truth, he looks ridiculous. Dean has never seen someone standing in front of a stove, brandishing a spatula and flipping blackened chunks of something unidentifiable while wearing both a suit and a trench coat. The tie is backwards, as usual, and Castiel’s hair is in such disarray it looks as if he’s been engaging in an epic battle against a score of demons, or, well, having sex. Dean doesn’t like to think about that because Cas is an angel first, and it makes Dean twinge with something suspiciously similar to jealousy, which is really the bigger issue.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“Dean,” Castiel says through a grin that is much too earnest, “I have made you cheeseburgers.”

“That’s…” Faced by Cas’ expression, Dean is extremely perplexed. The words stick in his throat, because the _things_ being flipped with the spatula look nothing like cheeseburgers. “Why?” Honestly, he doesn’t know what else to say, because, seriously: there is an angel of the Lord with a smudge of what looks like ketchup across his forehead burning hamburgers in his motel room. There is no way this could become more surreal. In lieu of thinking, he grabs a beer.

Taking a page out of Dean’s own book, Castiel rolls his eyes, “Because it’s our anniversary.” As if it couldn’t be more obvious.

Dean spits half his beer all over floor and hurriedly runs the back of his hand across his mouth. _Anniversary_? Where did _that_ come from? The entire situation has just become significantly more bizarre – and he is already running through a list of creatures powerful enough to throw him into an alternate reality. But Gabriel is dead and he doesn’t remember making any wishes about blue-eyed angels flipping burgers, which rules out a djinn. He realizes, as Castiel’s grin begins to fade, that he’s been silently staring while chugging down the entirety of his beer.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s been four years since I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition, Dean.”

Oh.

That.

He thinks that maybe, just maybe, Cas is terribly confused about what an anniversary actually is.

Dean opens his mouth, closes it again. Tries again, knowing that there should be words coming out, but he can’t think of anything to say. For his part, Cas is looking at him as if Dean has just kicked his puppy.

“Cas-“ He finally manages to force out, though he’s not given much of a chance to say anything.

“You forgot!”

“I didn’t know I had to remember!” Dean finds himself on the defensive, and pulls out another beer, “Anniversaries are usually for people that are… You know… Uh… _Romantically_ involved.”

Oh no.

Cas looks first confused - then embarrassed – then heartbroken. Even four years later, he’s still trying to figure out human customs, and he still has that damned issue with personal space, though Dean has begun noticing (mostly due to Sam’s relentless prodding) that it doesn’t seem to occur with anyone else. Castiel looks for a quick second as if he wants to protest Dean’s claim, but thinks better of it.

“I am sorry, Dean, I was not aware.” He sounds so miserable in that moment, just before he returns to gruff and calm, that Dean can’t help but take pity on him. Even if it means eating the no longer just blackened, but at this point literally burnt to a crisp, patties that Castiel is moving onto buns that are blessedly store bought and untouched.

“Hey, no point in wasting some perfectly good cheeseburgers,” Dean finally says with false bravado, grabbing a couple more bottles of beer for Cas and himself as the angel beams. Judging from the look of the burgers, he’s going to need as much alcohol as possible to get through them.

Belatedly, Dean realizes that Castiel doesn’t eat, and the plate piled high on the table is all for him. With the taste of smoke still sticking in the back of his throat, the hunter grabs a burger, trying all the while to keep the look of disgust off of his face. For a brief moment, Dean rues his messiah complex: the only part of the mess in front of him that looks edible is the bun, Cas has somehow managed to burn even the cheese. Nevertheless, he takes a bite, and very nearly spits it out. The patty is nothing more than a lump of charcoal, ashy and extremely overcooked; by some miracle Dean manages to choke it down – though there are very nearly tears in his eyes.

“Dean, why are you choking?” Cas asks, looking simultaneously concerned and hungry for approval.

“Great cheeseburger, Cas.”

The lie rolls off his tongue like water before he throws back half a beer and seriously considers switching to whisky. He manages to finish the rest of the first burger in three more bites, forcing himself to chew and no longer capable of keeping his misery off his face. Castiel’s stare is intense and calculating across the table, he must realize that Dean is suffering through their anniversary dinner.

“I suspected something was wrong when they started smoking like that,” the angel finally says, and takes a delicate sip of his beer.

“You _suspected_ —“ Dean stops. Takes a deep breath. “Cas, thanks for pulling me from hell and all that. But do all of us a favor: don’t try cooking.”

“That was harsh,” Sam, who catches only the last line, entirely out of context, pipes from the doorway, “What the hell are those?”

“Cheeseburgers,” Cas says, holding up a copy of Cosmo, “The magazine suggested Dean and I celebrate our anniversary with a home-cooked meal.”

“Anni-“ Dean buries his head in his hands and tries to disappear. “You know, I think I forgot my… something. At the—At the library.” As quickly as he arrived, Sam is gone – the awkwardness in the room ratchets up a notch.

“Romantically involved, Cas.”

“But, Dean,” Cas says, brow furrowed in confusion, “You took Sam and me to Biggerson’s for their Twenty-Fifth Anniversary Super Double Bacon Cheeseburger Extravaganza just last week. I was not aware there was anything romantic about that.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

Dean wonders, briefly, how to explain the concept to a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent. After a lengthy silence, the duration of which Castiel spends staring at him intensely, he decides that it’s not possible. It’s not like he’s particularly averse to the idea of a romantic involvement with the angel, quite the opposite, in fact; and if Sam is correct, Castiel isn’t either.

“You know what,” Dean finally says, once he’s decided to take the leap, “If it’s going to be our anniversary, let’s at least make it official.”


End file.
